Laying Judgment
by Atramentous Love
Summary: They say a zanpakuto represents your soul and heart, for it reflects everything that you are and everything you could be. First encounters between shinigami and sword are never easy. A collection of one-shots centering around the wielder and the blade.
1. STinG

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach or Soi Fong in this chapter. I do own the idea as well as the words written within this chapter though. See below the story for my Author's Note as well as a preview/notice of the next chapter.

**Laying Judgment**

_In which her love_

She's just little, meek Soi Fong. Tiny, sweet Soi Fong. Her father's pride and her mother's little darling. She grows up as the years pass by, blissfully unaware of the world outside the comfort of her home. Bloodshed seems so much like a faraway dream, just as how the thought of killing anything seems horrific and unsuited to her reality. She doesn't pause to think of the possibility that maybe she is the one who doesn't fit into reality. She can't. She's too young to know such things, to hold such a hefty apple in the palm of her hand.

But hold the apple, she does. Perhaps Newton's gravity is what set it off; maybe it is a strange working of Fate that has bound her to serve for an eternity. For the apple has fallen from the atmosphere into her child-like hands and the burden has settled into the crevices of her heart. The sun is setting, she thinks, as she tilts her head to gaze at the beautiful magenta colors in the sky.

"Quick, bow Soi Fong!" Her father's strong hand settles itself roughly on her shoulder and she falls to a kneeling position, luminescent eyes still absorbing the colors and shapes of the fading clouds. She's not quite sure why she's on the floor, but her father is muttering fervent words of admiration and she tries to imitate him as best as she can. But she is young and not quite ready to dedicate herself so selflessly to anything. The words are clumsy as they fall from her lips and sincerity is fleeting. "See that person in there?" Her father asks, gesturing at a purple-haired lady sitting delicately within her gilded cage. "She is Shihoin-sama and one day, you will grow up to serve her as I serve her now. You must protect her."

The lady is beautiful, she thinks. And when the noble smiles at her loyal followers, Soi Fong can't help but smile back, her face splitting into a wide beam. Everything about the strange woman is kind, from her gentle aura to her warm skin tones and laughter. It is the first time that the Little Bee tastes admiration and the knowledge of what it means to be outclassed. When she goes back home that night with words of praise for the Shihoin heiress on her tongue, her mother gives a wistful smile and pats her on the head. "You'll be so strong one day, Soi." She doesn't bother to wonder why the words sound so sad and forced, mind too preoccupied with images of amber eyes and violet tresses.

This is how she grows up, naïve and sweet.

_Turns to_

It's a lot harder in training school than her father said. She gets teased a lot for being a female, but she shrugs it off like water. Her hands are no longer soft and smooth with the touch of innocence, but marred by sword calluses and hardened with labor. When she moves, it is no longer with the same childish bounce to her steps, but swift and silent like an assassin—like a killer. But she hasn't yet tasted of murder and so the smile stays on her face with every passing day. She doesn't remember the Shihoin heiress too well anymore, memories fading into the background of her daily rituals. Her motives have changed now and the force driving every punch, every kick, and every snarl is her honor and pride. She doesn't remember vowing to protect anyone.

But everything changes when the heiress visits one day.

They are all lined up in a row, every person the top of their respective classes. She's the only female and next to her, a guy jabs her sharply in the ribs. She retaliates by grinding the heel of her foot into his shin and relishes the sharp squeak of pain that the move initiates from her annoyer. The smile of success is quickly wiped off her face as she comes face-to-face with the idol of her youth. She sputters frantically for words, bowing awkwardly and turning red with embarrassment. She can hear the guy besides her snickering with amusement and fights down the inner rush of shame. "G-gomen nasai!" She bites out lamely and watches as a pair of golden eyes regard her with something like kindness and friendliness at the same time.

"S'alright. What's your name?" Soi Fong chokes in surprise, looking around to see if there is someone of particular importance behind her waiting to answer the question. But there's only her and devilish amusement is sneaking its way onto the noble's face. She points at herself in astonishment and flinches as Shihoin-sama's hand reaches over to ruffle her hair affectionately. "C'mon. You can talk to me. I swear I don't bite."

"S-S-Soi Fong, Shihoin-sama," she stutters out and looks down at her feet. She doesn't think she can meet anyone's eyes right now. Her father will be so ashamed of her, she thinks forlornly.

"Soi Fong. I like that. Call me Yoruichi."

"W-what?" She exclaims and gapes in wide-mouthed shock. "I-I couldn't p-p-possibly…Shihoin-sama!"

The older lady beams and winks, one golden eye closing briefly. "Why, what is this? Bzzt…Bzzt. I hear a strange sound. And it seems to be coming from…" Yoruichi leaps forward in a sudden cat-like pounce, movements graceful and lithe. "Here! Why, I think I've found my Little Bee!"

Soi Fong isn't sure what to make of this experience, but the memory of it warms her deep inside and she vows to never forget what she's here for. She's here to protect Yoruichi-sama, to guard the princess with her life. It isn't so much of a duty as it is an honor to be appointed the purple-haired woman's personal guard. That night, before she goes to bed, there is a new and strange buzzing sound in her ears.

It's there when she wakes up, there when she trains in the woods, there when she returns to her lonely bed. It follows her incessantly, drilling a hole in her head and thrumming deep in her veins. The sound wraps itself around her mind like an endless chant and it isn't until an entire month passes that she realizes where it's coming from. It's unheard of for a Special Corps member to possess a shikai, much less know the name of their zanpakuto. She trembles as she holds up her faithful blade, fingers running over the edge in anxiety and nervousness. There should be a cut on her skin from that contact, but there isn't. And it is in that one instant that she realizes just exactly what is happening to her. She drops the sword as if the touch scalds her and backpedals away, pupils dilating in fear. She doesn't want to leave Yoruichi for the thirteen divisions. She doesn't want to become a shinigami and serve a new person. She doesn't want the power that her sword is offering her.

All she wants is a home. A home where she can live only to serve Yoruichi-sama.

But the world doesn't listen to her and when her eyes open again, she finds herself in a flowered field. The sky is a palate of magenta and crimson red hues that paints the sky the same colors as her first encounter with the Shihoin heiress. The strange buzzing sound increases in her ears tenfold and it isn't until she steps back to look at the whole picture that she sees hundreds of honeybees busy at work cultivating the flowers. It's an amazing sight to see and she marvels at the serenity within her inner world—her soul.

"_You've finally answered my call."_

She turns, her eyes alit with expectation. She has never seen a sword's spirit before. She wonders if hers will be strong, kind, beautiful, or shy just like her. She wonders if a human's face will greet her wandering eyes or if something more will grace her vision. When the truth finally makes itself known, she realizes that it is nothing she could've ever imagined. The disembodied voice is formed by the rapid vibrations of every single bee's wings. She can see it so clearly now, awed by the flitting figures of yellow and black that zigzag carelessly from flower to flower. "Who…who are you?"

_"Suzumebachi. You've been ready to hear my name for a long time. I'm glad you've finally decided to listen."_

"I was scared," she admits quietly, ashamed at her weakness. "I didn't want to leave Yoruichi-sama. I'm sorry, Suzumebachi." She scuffs her shoes against the soft ground, smiling hesitantly as a honeybee flies away from the formation to rest on her head.

_"She means a lot to you, doesn't she? Use that respect and admiration to protect her and everything you hold dear. I am sure that together, we will be more than capable of accomplishing that."_

"How?" She asks, taking a step forward in her need to hear more. "How can I keep Yoruichi-sama safe? Please, tell me." She tries to ignore the way her voice raises to a tone used only for pleading. But the promise of having enough power to keep Yoruich-sama safe—regardless of the cost, spurs her to cast aside her honor and her pride.

_"Think, Soi Fong. What are bees willing to do to protect their comrades and their home?"_

Her brow furrows in thought, arms folding as she searches for the elusive answer. "They are willing to die for their home and comrades. A honeybee stings once before dying." She murmurs at long last, eyes widening in comprehension as the voice hums in approval. There is a faint tingling sensation in her right hand, her sword hand, and it swiftly spreads to half the length of her arm. She glances quickly downwards and marvels at the black and yellow structure she finds firmly intertwined with her right hand. "This…this is?" She asks, awed by the easy way she can manipulate the blade to her whim.

_"This is my gift to you and the first of many steps we will take together. Sting, Soi Fong. Sting those that would dare to threaten the safety of Yoruichi-sama or yourself. Strike them twice in the same spot and they will perish of poison in mere seconds. When you have grown strong enough, you will learn to keep your curse on their skin for eternity and thus mark them for your own kill."_

This is how she learns to dedicate her life and her sword to one person, her heart soaring from beneath its confines in her tiny chest.

_Complete and total, disgusting hatred_

She wakes up to find her mentor, her friend, her sister, her _idol_ gone.

There is nothing left to remind her of those precious days spent training with Yoruichi-sama, nothing left to keep her loyalties still tied to those devilish golden eyes. She swallows around the lump in her throat and wipes away the tears that fall from her face. She has to move on, she knows. She has to move beyond the shadows of everything that used to, and could've, been. But her world is falling apart at the seams and all her pain forges into anger stronger than the deadliest of poisons. Her days pass without a peace of mind and Suzumebachi is quiet as she curses the Shihoin heiress a thousand ways to Hell.

What use is there in having the power to protect, if there is no one left in your heart to protect?

_"This hate will kill you."_

She turns away with disdain from the stormy sky and the blistering cold winds as they whip her hair about her. She knows inside that Suzumebachi is right, that her zanpakuto will always be right in the end. But she doesn't care if her hatred will kill her so long as it drags Yoruichi down with her. "Then let it," she screams, words shrill and angry over the lightening cracking her sky apart.

_"I will follow you."_

Her silver eyes narrow in jaded satisfaction at those words and before she leaves, the meadow bursts into a thousand flames, turning everything to ashes. "We'll be together," she promises. "We'll be together right until the end."

_"Yes, we will."_

By nighttime, her butterflies linger forever on each target—a sign meant for one person, and one person only.

And this is how her three hundred years pass, alone and bitter.

* * *

Author's Note: I don't feel as if I have done justice to Soi Fong and Suzumebachi. I have a really strong urge to go back and rewrite this entire one-shot. Please keep in mind (before you say that Soi Fong was OOC here) that she really was meek and mild before Yoruichi deserted her. She had the same determination as she shows now, but she's almost much more bitter and angry. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of Laying Judgment. If you have the time, I'd really appreciate a comment or two. 

**Up Next: **Gin's always wanted to have someone just as twisted as him by his side. He gets what he wishes for when Shinso cruelly invades his mind on a dark and stormy night.


	2. sHOoT

* * *

_You who haunts those__  
Of the dreaded night_  
**.  
.**

**Laying Judgment**

**.  
.**

_ Smile__ to hide those ugly scars,  
That rotting heart, __corrupted__ might.  
_

* * *

**H**e's never been normal, as far as normal has ever been concerned. He knows this like he knows that he has a strange talent for killing. He knows this like he knows the fact that he simply has no heart to speak of. He's been third-seat of the fifth squad for a while, unable to move forward because his sword doesn't have a name. It's a stupid excuse to keep a young prodigy like him from advancing, but he doesn't really care. He's all past caring.

It's morning when he lazily stretches and moves to get off his futon. He's still the same as ever, the same as when those kids in Rukongai had steered clear of him, the same as when he'd cut down the useless excuse for a third seat. His frame is thin, but not slight. It makes his above average height seem positively monstrous and he enjoys it. He enjoys the fear radiating off of his subordinates as he walks by them, one pale and skeletal hand waving greetings while the other is clasped firmly onto his sword. He's the loose cannon in the thirteen squads, the Devil to Aizen's supposed Angel—or maybe the right word is God, he isn't sure. It's ludicrous anyways. God doesn't exist. Never has and never will.

But he's in it for the thrill—the ride. He loves chaos and Soul Society's rigid structure irritates him, but not enough for his ever-there smile to drop for even a second. They aren't worth that. He goes through the routines of training some of the new lackeys, one hand cupping the cheek of one of the spirited females in a mock caress. She stares back at him with defiance burning brightly like flames in a hallowed skull. He laughs, tells her that her form is perfect, and moves on. He's sure she'll apply for a transfer by tomorrow.

Aizen doesn't like defiance, after all.

It's with a quiet, sinister whistling tune that he waves goodbye to Aizen and turns to go back home. The clouds hang low on the sky, thunder rumbling from a distance away. There's danger in the air, as cliché as that sounds, but it surrounds him and dulls his senses. He should be alert, but he isn't. He reaches languidly for his sword and freezes when the edge slices open his palm instead. His smile vanishes briefly, eyes narrowing in a look of pensive apprehension at the otherwise perfectly ordinary blade.

_Plop…plop…splash._

The rain mingles in with the sound of his blood hitting the empty street and he continues onwards, never taking his eyes off of the road ahead. His mouth is pulled into a grim line and he uses more force than he should as he slides open the door to his living quarters. Behind him, lightening cracks the sky apart. It fades away in the background, hides itself beneath the curtain of rain and the growing discontent of the sky.

The next flash sends with it a sharp jolt through his heart. He lurches forward, eyes widening in surprise and steadies himself against the floor, breath coming out in heavy and sharp gasps. _Impossible_, he thinks and turns disbelievingly to the still-open door. The thunder comes to fill the silence and a voice tears into his mind, crystal clear and deadly. There are words, but he can't hear them because the thunder is growing louder and louder (_or is it the beating of his frantic heart?_) and his eyes blur as a third lightening flash sends another searing pain through his body. He grits his teeth and swears softly, the edge of his lips twisting up into a malicious smile. He can play the game. And he knows exactly what's happening. Outside, the rain rises up to meet his door, flowing and swirling around his ankles and hands. He jerks uncontrollably and forces himself to a standing position, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"_It's a pity you aren't having much fun. I thought you'd enjoy having the tables turn on you for once, my dear wielder. Guess not." _The voice is consuming his thoughts in his mind and he flexes his fingers warningly, raising the burning sword with shaking hands. He opens his mouth to respond, an unnecessary move since he can just communicate through thoughts, but the words lodge in his throat as the next lightening flash brings him back down to his knees.

He hisses, slowly and painfully, and gets back up. This is _his_ game, sword spirit or not. And he will never get on his knees for _anyone_. "This must be too boring for you, I guess." He comments in between harsh breathing and lingering jolts of pain but his tone is still the same as ever—uncaring, flippant, mockingly polite and sinister.

"_Aren't you considerate? Would you like for me to stop now? Maybe you're not ready yet." _The voice laughs softly in his head, and Gin draws up his smile again, jagged edges of teeth glimpsing from behind tightly pressed lips. The words are thrown out casually from the heated sword in his hand, as if consideration and thought are things quite unneeded in life. It's almost amusing, to think that they can be so similar and try so hard to break one another. He shrugs thin shoulders and braces himself as the air fairly crackles with eminent warning.

"Saaa…who knows? It'll be the same either way." He murmurs as the next lightening flash splits the sky in half. And his heart is beating erratically, as if the blood is turning and turning on itself, rushing and swirling in all the wrong directions. It's as if his heart has been punctured and the blood is leaving it until there will be nothing left. He feels bloated and empty.

He stumbles, grasps wildly for a solid support, features struggling to keep his smile, but it's all in vain. He staggers for a step, and then two. But the darkness washes over his eyes and he crumples to the floor.

His heart stops beating.

From the crevices of his mind, a voice rings hollowly, echoing words of the future. _"I'm just kidding. I wouldn't have stopped even if you'd asked me to."_

* * *

The world blurs in front of him, spinning and spinning until he can feel his cold, dead heart drop to the pit of his stomach. He's on the ground in this strange new place, blood trickling out from the corner of his still-smiling mouth. He pushes himself up slowly to his elbows and then into a sitting position, eyes glancing briefly from place to place. It's a world of metal and puzzles twisting into themselves. He glances down and sees a massive chessboard displayed beneath his feet. He is a playing piece, the King of the black pieces. Instinctively, he turns to regard the white pieces before him and opens his eyes in mild contemplation at what he finds there.

"Funny, I thought you'd look a bit more like little 'ole me." He drawls, shifting slightly on his marked place.

His sword smiles back, the grin anything but comforting. _"Did you? That's just too bad."_ A slender hand with spider-like fingers lifts to push away a lock of flame-colored hair from a pale face. Cool amber eyes blink slowly before narrowing into a well-amused expression. _"It's your move." _

And so it is. Gin pretends to think about it carefully, though the next move is obvious. He directs a fidgeting pawn forwards and watches as it is sacrificed. He does it to humor his sword, to watch the growing expression of satisfaction turn to understanding and then to surprise once he makes his true move. But he isn't in a hurry and he bides his time, watching as more and more of his players are sacrificed or killed unnecessarily.

"_You're not even trying." _His sword says mildly, flicking his wrist and decapitating Gin's Queen. _"You really should hurry up, your physical body's going to be dead for good if this keeps up."_

Gin smiles easily, shrugs and steps forward onto the square to the right of him before bothering to reply. "And since when have I ever cared about that? Hm?" He cocks his head and watches behind customary slit eyes as a white pawn tentatively approaches him. He leans forward, never leaving his assigned square, and sinks his hand through the white chest presented to him, withdrawing with the equivalent of the pawn's heart in his hand. It's a pearly white sphere and he throws it behind him with an aura of nonchalance. The pawn crumples into dust and fades away.

"_Oh, why didn't you say so before?" _A wicked smile forms and his sword steps forward as well, inclining his head in a mocking form of politeness. _"I wouldn't have wasted all this time if I'd known." _Amber eyes gleam with anticipation and pale hands clench at the sides. _"Well, that's life for you. Or would it be death?" _

They stand facing one another, both wearing identical jester masks and both hiding the deep seed of maliciousness within them. They stand, one soul regarding its reflection in some shadowy mirror of a nameless dimension. They are perfectly matched; their thoughts are one and the same. Gin knows it's time and the sword stares back passively, flaming red hair dancing about his face. What a game, they both muse calmly, what a game. Too bad it's going to end.

Snake-like eyes open first and Gin dashes forward, ignoring the protocols and the rules of the game. His sword, no longer possessing a soul in this world, calls out as he withdraws it to place the edge firmly against the spirit's neck. There's a long silence and then smooth laughter fills the empty space. _"Ignoring the rules? You really are too amusing." _There's brief moment with neither of them moving and then the amber eyes flash, one hand reaching back to lock firmly around Gin's neck in a fatal chokehold maneuver. _"But I guess we wouldn't be here right now if you weren't so entertaining." _

"Who knows? But I think it's about time now." The smile is frozen, etched onto unsympathetic features and the chessboard rapidly melts underneath them. He isn't surprised, quite frankly. It takes a lot to catch him off guard, after all. The hand on his neck tightens, dangerously close to crushing his windpipe and he presses harder on the sword, watching as a sliver of blood trickles its way down. "Or you know, we can stay like this for awhile."

"_Just checking." _And then the spirit too, fades away, leaving only a lingering pain around his sore throat and blood polishing his sword's edge. _"Maa…you didn't need to be abusive with me, Ichimaru Gin. But I guess you won, even though you cheated." _One pale arm extends in a false invitation before being withdrawn, the air snapping chaotically around an open palm. _"I'm Shinsō_. _And don't forget to shoot to kill." _

"Divine spear?" How ironic, he thinks. That of all things for his sword to be called, it has to be something related to Gods and deities. Divine. Even his sword is a mess of irony and criticism. And all he can think of this moment, gazing thoughtfully at the spear held in Shinsō's hand, is that Aizen will surely be angry. A subordinate wielding a divine and Godly weapon! "Fancy that." He says and laughs as the world fades away, a knowing smile fixed on Shinsō's face. They don't play by the rules and they don't align themselves with anyone. Life, after all, is only a game with winners and losers and plenty of amusement to be had. It's why they're divine, in the end.

They're above the rules.

* * *

Immersed in water and the cold sticking to his skin, Ichimaru opens his eyes again. The newfound sword at his side echoes a final laugh in his head and he stands up slowly, casually tying Shinsō to his side. No one questions the extra dose of cynical glee in his charlatan smile that night, nor does anyone notice that the hilt of his sword has changed. He falls back into routine again, drinking a bowl of miso soup and adjusting the futon's covers around him as he prepares for sleep.

Tomorrow, Soul Society will be sent reeling with shock as the first Hell Butterfly of the day reaches them before the break of dawn.

"_Vice-Captain of the fifth squad has been killed during the seating match. The new lieutenant is Ichimaru Gin." _Such a note of finality, Gin will think as he stands over the lifeless corpse of his previous superior tomorrow. Such a lovely note of finality to death and he turns to lock gazes with Aizen, lips curved into a little mocking smile.

He's in it just for the fun.

And when the time comes…

Well, he'll just enjoy the look on dear Aizen's face as Shinsō pierces like lightening through his heart. Gods, after all, don't exist.

"Shoot to kill, neh?" He will murmur aloud to no one in particular, strolling back home with the vice-captain badge fastened securely around his arm. His fingers will almost tenderly clasp Shinsō's hilt, his smile perhaps a little more satisfied and a little less cynical for once.

"_Of course, shooting just to injure would be a little cruel, hmm?" _The voice surfaces again, a little pleased in the edges.

"That's simply horrible." He will reply, eyes fixing themselves on a small fledgling of a shinigami with raven black hair and violet eyes the color of dark and rich amethyst. "How terrible of you Shinsō, to consider dragging out the torment in an enemy." His tone is softly chastising, but it's just a joke in the end. It's always been a joke to him.

"_We're such horrible hypocrites, Gin. We're simply awful." _

Gin will smile, razor sharp teeth eliciting a small gasp of fear from the petite shinigami. It will be a smile that she will never forget—poor Kuchiki Rukia. He watches her quick and flurried steps fade away from him before he bothers to reply.

"Oh well, that's too bad."

* * *

_You would revel in my misery,  
Drink from my anguish and_  
**.**

**.  
**

**Spear**

**.**

**.**

_ Me through the heart,  
Even as you say you loved me._

* * *

**Author's Note: **I had a lot of trouble imagining up Gin's sword because its name is Divine Spear, roughly translated into English. And Gin is really anything but divine. I wanted to use a serpent of some other undesirable and malicious beast to represent Shinsō, but none of them fit the picture of a spear or had any such connection. In the end, I resorted to mythology and found a Norse God named Loki. He's the God of Mischief and does rather more harm than good (he kills a fellow God to amuse himself). In addition, he's associated with Odin, the King of Norse Gods. One of Odin's spears has the unnatural ability to elongate itself when you "throw" it and won't stop until it pierces flesh. Lightening from Zeus (a thunderbolt, which can be counted as a special form of a spear) starts the story with an ominous reference to Gin's weapon form. I made up the appearance of Shinsō to make him seem completely otherworldly, or in some sense of the word, divine. Crimson red hair and amber eyes just seemed to be the most stunning combination in my mind. Do review and tell me what you think. By the way, this will be the format for the rest of the chapters. I'll go back and edit the format for Soi Fong's chapter so that it matches later.

**Up Next: **Hisagi Shuuhei was just a simple prodigy from the Academy, one who had talent and not much else going for him. But now his fellow classmates are dead and he's scarred for life. Out of the ashes of pain and despair comes a voice—one he'll have to listen to in order to survive.

**Note Part Two: **I am so excited about Shuuhei's zanpakutou. You can expect his to be quite stunning just because the idea is so _vivid_ in my head. Stick around, I'll make sure you won't regret it.


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